


Gifts

by ChokolatteJedi



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Banter, Gen, Grim Reapers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Magic, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra gets a surprise on a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [failsafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/gifts).



> Thank you, TL Vop for the maths help, and Aris Merguoni for beta-ing!

Cassandra looked between her little Clippings Book and the weapons rack before her. There were three scythes in the rack, and the sketch in the Book was hazy, but she thought it was the one with the black handle and the slight glint of blue to the metal.

Of course, she could just collect all three and take them back to Jenkins: surely he could tell which one the Book actually meant for her to collect. Then the others could be returned if they were worthless.

Decided, Cassandra put down her bag and pulled out a length of rope. She'd tie the three scythes together to make them easier to carry, and once she was back to the broom closet from which she'd arrived, she'd call Jenkins for a door back.

She reached for the black scythe first, and the moment her fingers touched it she was hit with a burst of magic. It surged through her, ripping through her memories and emotions.

_"You have a tumor, dear."_

_"The Prince was really Merlin, in disguise. And you can't kill Merlin."_

_"I know what Death looks like! She looks like me!"_

The magic receded slightly, to the point where she was brimming with it but no longer drowning in it. Cassandra looked down at the scythe, which seemed to be molded into her hand.

Her hand, which was sticking out from beneath a soft, hooded cape of a deep black-violet.

The moment she wondered what was happening, the knowledge entered her mind. The scythe was one of the reaping scythes, famed in legend over the eons. And she was now an angel of death, one who took and gave as the fates demanded. Or, perhaps she always had been; it was a little unclear. But now that she had claimed her reaping talisman, the balances were re-aligned and she could -- should -- do her job.

Job. She had a job to do. As a Librarian. Trying to shove the persistent thoughts of the scythe out of her mind, Cassandra eyed the other two in the weapons rack. She couldn't leave these here for anyone to find, in case they were the artifact she was seeking, but after what had just happened with the last one, she didn't want to touch anything.

Grabbing her bag, Cassandra fled back to the Library.

*L*

"That was fast," Jenkins commented as soon as she stepped back into the Annex.

"Kind of." Cassandra squeaked out.

Jenkins looked up at her and his expression drooped. "Oh. Dear."

Cassandra felt relief flow through her. "So you know what happened to me?"

Jenkins grimaced. "I suspect I know the general predicament you find yourself in, and I can guess as to the _how_ , but I'm not sure as to the specifics."

She hurried towards him, thrusting out the scythe and the Clippings Book that was still in her other hand. "I was going after a scythe, but there were three to chose from. I was going to bring them all back, but when I touched the first one, this," she gestured with the book hand at her cloak, "well, _happened._ "

"That explains a bit," Jenkins conceded. "I was going to guess cursed cloak, but cursed scythe fits the same general theme. Did the... uh, possession, for lack of a better word, come with any other details?"

"It called itself a reaping talisman?" Cassandra offered.

Jenkins, who had been reaching out towards the scythe, immediately pulled his hand back as though it would be burned. " _A reaping talisman?_ he repeated, eyes wide.

"That's what it said!"

"Hmmm."

"Wow, Colonel Baird's right, mate. You do love to be cryptic."

Cassandra spun around to find Ezekiel coming down the stairs. However, as soon as she saw him, her gut clenched and the scythe began to whisper in her mind.

_Soon._

Cassandra almost dropped the scythe in surprise, but it was still firmly attached to her hand. _"What do you mean, 'soon'?"_ she thought furiously at it.

 _Soon. He will join us soon._ The scythe whispered.

 _"Ezekiel? He's- he's going to die?"_ She asked.

_Soon._

*L*

Several hours had passed, but no matter what Cassandra did, the Scythe refused to elaborate. Jenkins dove into a back room of the Library muttering to himself, and the others were still out on their own adventures.

Ezekiel had just laughed and offered to bake her some cookies.

Cassandra had oscillated between scared, angry, and relieved, the latter of which made her feel extremely guilty, but for once it wasn't _her_ with the ticking time bomb of mortality in their brain.

Which wasn't fair, of her, really; Ezekiel didn't deserve to die. And especially not when she had the premonition to stop him! Of course, he should be grateful to get advanced warning of his demise, as not everyone was that lucky. Not that she had often felt lucky after the disclosure of her brain grape, and also she was fairly certain she had demanded that it never be called that again.

She had a headache.

She also really wanted to go to the bathroom, but the scythe was still glued firmly to her hand, and she wasn't sure how she could manage the robe and her shorts without a second hand.

Suddenly, the scythe and robe vanished. Cassandra blinked rapidly, not certain if she was imagining things, but as someone who hallucinated semi-professionally, she knew how to tell the difference. Her hand was empty, her wardrobe unchanged.

She was tempted to believe it had all been some wacky dream, caused by inhaling some kind of hallucinogenic mold spore in an ancient, unsanitary, castle, save for the quiet, insistent whispering in her head.

_Soon._

*L*

"So, does it say how I die?" Ezekiel asked as they sat around the kitchen island, munching on milk and fresh gingerbread cookies (the only kind Ezekiel knew how to make, and only because of that darn hat, thank you very much).

"No. Just 'Soon.'"

"Oh. Cause, there's this heist I've always wanted to pull. And if this is my last week on Earth, then I've really gotta get cracking on that."

Cassandra punched his arm; not very effectively, though, from the amused look he shot her. "This isn't something to joke about," she chided.

"Sure it is," he replied. "Librarians die all the time! One in ten don't make it past the first mission. One in five don't last a month! Only one in three live past six months! Do you know how incredible it is that _all three_ of us have made it this long? Not to mention Baird!"

"How do you know all that?" She asked, even as her mind began calculating those odds. Stone would probably say that it was balanced somehow by all the other potential Librarians who had been killed before even taking over the job, but she didn't believe in that kind of thing.

"This is a Library; I looked it up."

"You looked up Librarian death rates?" The odds were 3.375 million to 1 against all three of them surviving this long. A swampy smelling number.

"Of course I did. Got to know what I'm getting into. Ezekiel Jones always has a back door."

That was it! A back door! Cassandra jumped up and raced out of the kitchen. "Mister Jenkins!" she yelled. As soon as he entered the annex, she declared "I think we've got a plan!"

"Do tell."

"Well, hackers use back doors to get around things, right?"

"Right," Ezekiel said.

"So we use a back door to get around this death thing. Like how Ezekiel saved us all from dying from the Libris Fabula in Washington by having us become a robot and a ninja and Merlin! Ooh, that might actually satisfy the odds as well. If technically both myself and Stone died for a moment, then we technically hadn't survived past our first month, meaning that Ezekiel was the only one. The odds of that are only 150 to one against. Much more reasonable. Maybe we died like Buffy and now two more can be chosen!"

"Okay, she's not making any sense," Ezekiel declared.

"Actually she's ma- uh, that is, yes, I have no idea what she is talking about." Jenkins fumbled.

Focus, Cassandra. "We died, maybe. Or we didn't. It doesn't matter. But people die all the time and then come back to life."

"You mean like Zombies?" Ezekiel asked?

"I mean like with CPR, Resuscitation! Resuscitation, swimming, salt water up my nose, coughing, pine needles." Cassandra finally caught her breath and looked up at Jenkins and Ezekiel.

"So, correct me if I'm wrong, but is she suggesting purposefully killing me?"

Jenkins smirked. "I think she might be."

Still the voice whispered, _Soon._

*L*

"You know I don't actually have a death wish, right?" Ezekiel asked.

"I know."

"I mean, with the Internationally renowned thieving and the running from the law and the seemingly insane solutions to seemingly impossible problems I can see where someone might think I had a death wish. And I just wanted to clarify that I didn't have one."

Cassandra smiled. "I didn't think you did."

"But you're still going to go with the 'killing me' plan, aren't you?"

"I think it's the only way," she explained. "Why else would I have been given this?" She had finally managed to control the ability to make the scythe appear and disappear, and now it appeared in her hand to emphasize her point.

Ezekiel took a tiny step back from it, then turned to Jenkins. "Jenkins, come on man. Are you really going to let her kill me?"

"Oh goodness no!" Jenkins replied, looking shocked. Then he smiled. "I'm going to kill you. She's going to bring you back."

Ezekiel groaned. "Well, this is officially the worst day ever."

"Only if something goes wrong," Cassandra pointed out. "I've done all the math. I know exactly how much electricity we need to stop and then restart your heart."

That just prompted another groan from Ezekiel.

"Are you ready?" Jenkins asked, holding up the defibrillator paddles with a smirk.

Cassandra double checked the settings on the defibrillator. "Yes."

Ezekiel glanced between them one last time before nodding.

Cassandra turned the machine on. As the paddles inched closer, she felt the scythe tugging at her mind. _Soon. Not yet._

"Wait!"

Jenkins jerked the paddles back just in time as Ezekiel jumped. "What was that for?" he demanded.

"Wait!" she repeated, much softer. The scythe was mumbling, changing, arguing, she couldn't tell. It was like her own jumbled senses on overdrive.

Ezekiel shimmied off the infirmary bed. "Are you having me on? Has this whole thing been some elaborate prank to get me to make cookies for you and then scare the life outa me?"

"What is it?" Jenkins asked, looking only slightly less freaked out than Ezekiel.

"Wait, wait, wait," she muttered again. The scythe's voice was threatening to overwhelm her, and she felt almost as though it was _tugging_ at her. Finally the sensations crescendoed and she slipped into darkness.

*L*

Not just darkness, she realized at some point. Like the smell of the rain late at night in the fall. Dark purpleness. The same color as her cloak. The second she realized that thought the cloak appeared around her shoulders. She hadn't realized she was cold until it warmed her arms.

 _You have Merlin's gift._ The scythe's voice said. _Not the scythe._ It corrected.

"Sorry?" Cassandra ventured. "You sound the same."

 _I am the same, but I was never the scythe._ the voice replied.

That made some amount of sense, so Cassandra didn't argue.

 _You have Merlin's gift._ it repeated.

"Oh, from the Libris Faubla," Cassandra held her palm up and thought very hard. A tiny flicker of blue flame licked across her fingers and then disappeared. "I've haven't really been able to use it much since that day. It faded away almost entirely by the end of the week."

 _No._ The firm denial brought her up short. _The gift has always been within you. Helping you. Healing you._

"No, that's impossible. Stone would still be a huntsman and a robot! Eve would be a princess! I would be a prince!" She glanced down quickly to confirm. "I am not a _prince_!"

 _Robots and Princes are not Merlin._ the voice insisted. _Merlin's gift does not fade away. It is in you still._

"Then why can't I do anything more than this?" Cassandra demanded, showing off the small finger of flame again.

_You have death's gift._

"The scythe? Look, I'm sorry I ever touched that. I'll put it back; I promise. Well, back in the Library, but not with me." Cassandra tried to pull the cloak off, but her fingers fumbled on the strings.

 _Not the scythe._ It corrected again.

"Well then I don't understand wha- no. No. No! No! The tumor? The Brain Grape? No!" It sounded even more ridiculous like that. Ridiculous and unfair and a punishment for something she couldn't comprehend deserving.

Liquid dripped onto her hand and Cassandra looked down. Tears, and blood from her nose. She couldn't think of a clearer metaphor for her life since she was fifteen and was told "You have a tumor, dear." She could still hear that doctor's voice echoing in her ears twelve years later. "That is not a gift." She whispered.

 _She looks like me!_ Now Cassandra heard her own voice echoing back at her through the other.

"Dying is not a gift," she repeated.

_Dying is your gift._ it replied. 

Another echo, one she recognized faintly: _And you can't kill Merlin._

The blue power appeared in her hands again, crackling and expanding until it engulfed her entire body. It was cold, like the ice it resembled, and she almost found herself welcoming it. She was tired of running from her death. 

Suddenly, the power began to shift, shimmering as it turned deeper and deeper purple. It became warm, like a toasty fire or a soft blanket. When she was completely surrounded, the power turned inward, racing into Cassandra. 

Once again the darkness took her. 

*L*

When she woke, the first thing Cassandra noticed was Jenkins and Ezekiel hovering over her with worried expressions.

The second thing she noticed was the lack of pain coming from her head. Gone was the monster headache that her crying had threatened to bring about. More importantly, gone was the minor ache from the mere existence of the tumor. The ache she hadn't remembered she could live without since she was fifteen. Gone too was the pain in her heart from knowing that her clock had been shortened unfairly.

The third thing Cassandra noticed was a faint aura around Ezekiel. Green, on the yellow side of the spectrum, and with a faint taste of turmeric. Noticing it brought up the knowledge, complete and clear, that he was fated to die in seven hours and twenty three minutes from a heretofore unknown allergy to the sting of the blue Mud Dauber wasp.

Cassandra considered avoiding the sting and subsequent death all-together, now that she was forewarned, but she saw, clearly, in her mind's eye, a snippet of Jake running from something in the woods, with Ezekiel and Cassandra right beside him. Clearly Jake would need their help in the next few hours, and they couldn't avoid that without risking _his_ life.

And suddenly, Cassandra knew what to do. She had been right before; in a way. There was death, and then there was permanent death. And this time she had a choice.

Sitting up, Cassandra asked Jenkins, "Do we have an epi-pen and an intubation kit in the first aid box?"

He looked befuddled for a moment. "Yes. Whyyyy?"

Cassandra turned back to Ezekiel. "Because he's going to die. But I'm going to save him."

Ezekiel, if anything, looked more worried than he had when Jenkins was standing over him with the paddles. "Uh, thank you?"

“What are friends who happen to also be Magical Sorcerers and Soul Reapers for?”


End file.
